


there is nothing can console me

by serenoa



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Character Study, Other, also corrin can be m or f i used only they/them, also i adore inigo and soleils father/daughter relationship being Healthy and Good so thats here, but soleil still exists bc fuck gender, but ya know i'd be better off writing fates lore myself anyway, his dad isn't a canon chara tho dw, is it technically a songfic if the song is a sea shanty?, rated T for suggestion, tagged both games bc its events with technically both worlds lol, this is MY inigo lore bc i own his character now. my city now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenoa/pseuds/serenoa
Summary: my heart is pierced by CupidI disdain all glittering goldthere is nothing can console me
Kudos: 9





	there is nothing can console me

_ Upon one summer's morning, _

_ I carefully did stray–  _

“You look depressed.” Severa says in her usual fashion, arms crossed across her chest in contempt; leaning against the post of the tent entry.

“Ah, yes. Perhaps I am.”

“So...you’re not going to talk about it?”

Inigo looks up from his task (wrestling himself out of the complicated gauze of his dancer’s outfit) in a manner which reads to Severa as, _ ‘Have I ever?’ _

“Fine. But don’t say I didn’t ask.”

He huffs a laugh to himself, nodding affirmatively as she pulled off the tent stake to face him head on. “What do you plan on doing now?”

_ Now? _

“After the war?”

Severa nods. Inigo sits on the edge of his cot, and looks off into space. He didn’t think this far ahead. After all, wartime was often passed by living day to day. Despite dreaming of the same future Lucina did; it didn’t serve him to picture  _ himself _ in it.

“I’m not sure,” He says after a moment, chin in his hand thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll travel the world on my own. Or get Owain in more trouble than he’s worth.”

The comment makes Severa laugh; a rare sound, and it brings peace to his mind.

“Get some rest Inigo; you’ll need it for all that wandering around.”

“Ah– but Severa, I am rejuvenated by just the mere sight of you.”

“Don’t push it.”

_ His hair, it hangs in ringlets; _

_ His eyes as black as coal. _

His lord is harsh. Strict. Boring, even. He isn’t like anyone else Inigo has gotten close to before. But that makes it more entertaining, yes? After coming to Nohr– having abandoned (he hates the word,  _ abandoned _ ) Ylisse– he became a retainer: a man named Laslow who was a former sellsword. A half lie. Inigo was, indeed, a mercenary before; he traveled from city to city to tend to business with his blade. Danced on the side. It made enough coin to add heft to his pockets, as temporary as that may have been.

But he absolutely hated the name Laslow.

Anyway. His lord.

Xander is a prince, apparently, and why a prince challenges his own retainer to a duel is beyond Inigo, but whatever. Inigo loses. Narrowly. He made sure to give this man a run for his money. Inigo was never one to like nobles, or royals, given his mother’s history and his upbringing. In fact, the only royals he could ever tolerate were Owain and his mother and uncle. And Lucina.

The Ylissean family in general, it seems. But this Xander character...he’s walking a thin line in Inigo’s mind.

Inigo can’t seem to pin why.

_ I’ll wander, weep, and moan; _

_ Until he sails home. _

“Hail, my dear friend! What brings such grief across the face of my closest comrade?”

Owain closes the chamber door behind him, having found Inigo sprawled across his bedsheets and staring blankly up at the rocky ceiling.

“What gave me away?” He asks, side eyeing the blond prince before averting his gaze. “Was it when I kept staring at the ground, or the cry session I had to take after council?”

The statement is made in humor. They both know this.

“Self aware my fair companion may be; his pain is not one I need not bear witness to to understand.” Owain says, seating himself on the bed’s foot, leaning an elbow into the mattress to rest on. “What ails you so?”

“Mm...I miss home. Miss mother. That’s all.”

“Ah…I see.”

It’s then that Owain’s facade crumbles. It always does when serious topics arise, and the crack is easy to see in the way his voice loses pitch along with all airs of grandeur.

It’s a shift Inigo doesn’t like. He didn’t intend to remind Owain of his lost life as well. Owain was probably the only source of joy around, if he was honest. In all of the castle. All of Nohr.

“I miss something else, too.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I quite miss the hours I spent reading your diary over tea.”

Owain flusters, and reaches for a cushion to whack Inigo with. They burst into laughter; the swordsman falling off his bed into the stone floor. Owain follows soon after, armed with plush over spells, and the stabbing pain of yesterday is forgotten in the moment.

_ My father is a merchant. _

_ The truth I now will tell, _

_ in opulence doth dwell. _

“Good evening, Laslow.”

“Ah, you return milord. Good evening! I was wondering when you would return.”

“Wondering?”   


Inigo nods, shelving the novel he was reading before. “Is that perchance unusual?”

Xander observes him with reservation; a hesitance as he gauges the retainer’s expression. “No. I’ve just noticed you have...warmed to me. You were quite cold before.”

Realization hits Inigo. So it was that.

“Yes, I....” Would telling him hurt? No, surely not. “If milord will allow me to be candid?”

“You may speak freely.”

Inigo sits in the chair he was in before and leans against the arm. His gaze avoids Xander (who sits nearby, gaze focused out a northern window) as he gathers his thoughts.

“When we first met, you reminded me of someone. At the time I couldn't quite place who; just that it irked me. I realized later you remind me of my own father.”

Xander’s attention peaked at that. “Your father?”

“Yes, I– forgive me milord, this may cause you offense–” Inigo laughs (nervously) but continues. “He was a prick. A merchant back home, and being a merchant in a war torn land is on par with a king, sometimes. But he kept this... _ air _ about him that seemed to command presence. Dignity, and whatnot. I think I saw these traits in you, initially, which caused my...disdain.”

He speaks delicately; precisely. Not wanting to make a mistake to overstep the boundary between liege and vassal.

Xander laughs softly, instead. “I see.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“No. In fact, I quite admire your honesty, Laslow. I have noticed, however, you do act more curt towards the nobles around here than you must intend to; the exceptions being my sisters and Corrin.”

Inigo nods in response. “Yes, I do not exactly...care for noblemen. Personal reasons. You, however, I most certainly have had the time to warm to. Forgive my sudden emotion. I enjoy being a retainer to you now, milord.”

“Nono, I’m glad to hear it. You’re a good man, Laslow. I hope to serve you and Peri as well as you both serve me.”

_ Smiling as the pleasant month of May, _

_ many a pretty young girl we did behold _

_ Reclining on the blossoms _

“The pink of your hair really brings these flowers out, Laslow!”

“Oh? Then it is as milady says. Yellow  _ must _ be my color.”

Elise laughs, weaving blooms of spring wildflowers into crowns. One rests on his head now, a mix of yellows and blues and pinks.  _ ‘A happiness spell!’ _ she called it, having caught him staring much too wistfully.

So there Inigo sits, braiding the stems of flowers into shapes alongside Camilla and Elise. Severa is near too, mumbling grumpily (he assumes) about how  _ jolly _ everyone is.

“Sooooo, tell me Laslow! What’s up with you and Corrin?”

“Me and.. Corrin?” He asks, looking up mid-braid to acknowledge the princess. “What do you mean milady?”

“D’aw, that’s what you keep looking all longingly at the horizon for right? That my sibling isn’t meeting your advances? Right?”

Elise is beaming, and he knows she’s genuinely trying to help. He laughs in place of a real answer, going back to his weaving. Luckily Camilla, ever the saint, can read the atmosphere and distracts the girl with picking more flowers for the lot.

_ My heart is pierced by Cupid; _

_ I disdain all glittering gold. _

“Corrin, hold on–” Inigo breathes, having been pinned against his own bedsheets.

“Yes?” They say; an inquiry in regard to his intent.

_ Slow down, or stop?  _ Is the unspoken question.

“It’s just,” He sits up, the other shifting over him to accommodate the movement, his shirt near undone and his breath stole. “I’m not used to– I haven’t ever really–”

His face flushes. Words are failing him. Corrin seems to understand, though, and they caress the side of his face in affection.

“You need me to slow down?”

“Well…”

It isn’t a no. It’s never a no. But he’s never been told ‘yes.’ Inigo has never experienced love beyond family, beyond friendship, and he doesn’t think there’s a word in any language to describe his affections for Owain and Severa both.

So it’s hard. It’s so, so hard to say yes when all you know is no. Especially when he doesn’t know how to ‘yes’ right.

“Corrin…” He hesitates, and then his mind is made. “I want to, but only if...if you…”

Inigo trails off, gaze shifting away, as it always does when he’s nervous or uneasy, but Corrin knows. They understand.

“You desire a commitment.” They say, withdrawing completely. “And that’s something you can’t give me?”

He nods, and there’s the guilt in his gut again. Corrin looks away as well, and there’s weight to the air. Moment: killed. They rise and he fixes his buttons.

“Goodnight, Laslow.”

“Y- yes, goodnight Corrin.”

_ Come all you pretty fair maids, _

_ whoever you may be; _

_ that plows the raging sea. _

He wasn’t much of a sailor, but luckily Inigo didn’t have to do much but watch and hope they didn’t all sink. But then he sees it: the jagged edge of land against sky.

Inigo smiles.

“Soleil, come here,” He calls for his daughter who he swiftly lifts to rest on the ship railing. “On the horizon, there. You see it?”   
  
She nods enthusiastically, and his smile widens; he’s giddy and excited beyond belief.

“That is where I’m from. Ylisse. Our home, now…”

He’s trying to find more to say; words to help convey his joy of being home, of being able to give his child a life there. He never was a wordsmith, now was he?

“Dad?” Soleil asks, meeting her father’s eyes with concern. “You alright?”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, yes, I just...got distracted thinking about it all. You’ll be able to meet your grandmother. Ah– but she’ll probably fret over you…and Lucina…”

“Lucina?”

“Ah, well, she’s the princess of this land. A dear friend of mine and your aunt and uncle’s.  _ Don’t _ get any ideas.” He says, and watches as she laughs with a smile.

“No problem, Dad!”

The sun catches in Soleil’s hair in such a way as she jumps down to the deck again, and it causes a wave of nostalgia over Inigo. He stops her again at the feeling.   
  
“Have I ever told you the meaning of your name, Soleil?” 

“Mm…No, I don’t think so! Are you saying it has a meaning? Is it super cute? Or super cool? I  _ have _ to know about it, now!”

Laughter.

“Yes, yes, of course. You see...in late dawn, like now, the sunrise hits the coast just so...I always thought it was beautiful. I remember practicing with my mother at morning light and seeing it for myself each day. That feeling was something that got me through even the darkest of days.”

Soleil is quiet, but not unpleasantly. It’s a gentle silence, and her voice softens when next she speaks. “So...you named me after the sun?”

“Mhm.”

“I see…”

The ship is close to port at this point, and he pats his daughter on the head as she smiles.

“Someday, I’ll tell you everything, my sweet girl. For now...well, I’m not sure about what to do for now. But we’ll get there, okay?”

“Okay!”

_ True love has grafted my heart. _

_ There is nothing can console me, _

_ but I firmly pray arrive the day _

_ I’m never more to roam. _

**Author's Note:**

> its 4am. i love inigo. these are my only two states of mind rn  
> \


End file.
